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My grandmother Adolfi had a baby every other year for twenty-six years. Tten survived childhood diseases. By the time I was bom in 1942, the family had multiplied and we were never fewer than 50 adults and children at my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Since my grandparents were Italian immigrants, we embraced Thanksgiving, but ate “our” food first. Plump spinach/sausage ravioli, spaghetti sauce and meatballs were made several days in advance by my mom and aunts. Thanksgiving eve my aunts crammed into our little apartment above our comer grocery store in Rome, N.Y. to make all the pies, cranberry sauce and the chestnut dressing for the 35 pound turkey. It was so convenient. They just sent us kids downstairs into the store to get what they needed for cooking!
About 1 p.m. on Thanksgiving day we served the Italian food first. It was a logistical triumph to get those plump ravioli, meatballs, fresh bread from DiBeardino’s bakery and salad served to eveiyone! Then, while all the cousins played wildly, the men, in a food coma, dozed wherever they could find a comer, and the women did the dishes and prepared the next course. Turkey, chestnut dress
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